


Perspective

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hope, Requited Love, Romance, Second Chances, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set soon after the beginning of season 8, Ruth is still distraught after the loss of her family when she gets a visit from an old friend. Can he help her through her grief and give her a new perspective? All characters borrowed from Kudos for a bit. Reviews are very much appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hello, Malcolm,” she greets with a warm smile. “It's lovely to see you again. How are you?”

“Fine, fine,” he replies, stepping through her door and letting her take the coat he's just shrugged off his shoulders. “How are you?”

“I'm fine,” she says as she leads him through to her small kitchen. “Tea? Coffee? Wine?”

“Tea, please,” he replies, taking a seat at the table when she refuses his offer of assistance. He watches her as she moves about collecting teacups, teapot, tea, milk jug, sugar bowl and biscuits, thinking back to the last time he saw her, less than a month ago, just before she'd lost George.

“How are things on the Grid?” she asks.

“Same as always, I imagine,” he says and at her quick questioning glance he adds, “I took early retirement.”

“What?!” she exclaims in astonishment.

“I felt it was time to move on,” he explains, pouring some milk into the teacup she places in front of him and murmuring his thanks. “After all that happened... I was ready to leave, let someone else take over, someone younger, fitter, full of energy and enthusiasm.” He smiles a crooked smile.

She's silent for a moment, lost in thought. “And are you still glad you did it?” she asks.

“It was the right time and I don't regret it,” he replies.

She nods slowly a few times and then smiles. “So what have you been doing with yourself?”

“Oh, this and that. I've been sorting through Mother's possessions mostly. I never had the time or the inclination to do it before,” he replies.

“Your mother?” she asks with a frown of concern.

“She passed away three months ago,” he explains.

“Oh, Malcolm,” she says with feeling, “I'm so sorry.”

“It was her time,” he shrugs and means it. He misses her, but he's come to accept her passing and is content in the knowledge that she's in a happier place. “I'm just glad it was painless. She died in her sleep. Anyway, my house has never been more organised, or less cluttered than it is right now, and it's ready to be shut up for some time while a do some travelling.”

“Where are you going?” she asks with interest.

“Everywhere,” he smiles.

“That's rather ambitious,” she replies.

“Tell me about it,” he nods. “Though to begin with, I think I'll stick to Europe. I leave next week for Oslo. I've always wanted to visit Scandinavia and it's the right time of year to do it now. I plan to be away for a good few months, wondering around the capitals of Europe, visiting museums-”

“Sitting in cafés,” she interrupts, and for a moment, there is such a wistful look in her eyes as she says it that he wonders what she's thinking. It disappears almost immediately, however, to be replaced by the pain that dwells there almost all the time now.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Anyway, I wanted to come round and see you before I left.”

“Thank you, Malcolm,” she smiles. “I'm glad you came.”

A brief silence settles between them as the sit quietly and sip their tea, munching on a biscuit each. Eventually he says, “So how are you, Ruth? And please don't tell me you're fine because we both know that's a lie.”

She looks at him and her eyes are filled with so much pain and sadness that it makes his heart ache for her. “I'm...” she begins but tails off.

“Sad? Hurt? Distraught?” he offers.

“Yes,” she sighs.

“It's been almost four weeks now, Ruth,” he murmurs softly. “Have you talked to anyone about what happened?”

“No,” she shakes her head sadly. “I can't, Malcolm... Besides which, who is there to talk to? Everyone thinks I'm dead.”

“I don't,” he volunteers, “if you're looking for a friend rather than a professional. And neither does Jo.”

“Jo,” Ruth smiles. “Dear Jo... but she's so young, Malcolm, and...” She falls silent.

“And?” he prompts sensing that what she wanted to say is important.

“She works for him,” she whispers so softly, he has to strain to hear her.

He nods and takes a sip of his tea before he puts the cup down and says, “I don't.”

“But you're his friend,” she murmurs, looking back up at him.

“I'm yours too, Ruth,” he replies gently. “This is about you and what happened to _your_ family. I'd be happy to help in any way I can... I'm a good listener and I hope you know that anything you tell me in confidence will not be shared with another living soul.”

She says nothing, just looks away, out the window at the pouring rain.

“Tell me about George, Ruth,” he says. “He seemed a nice man, a little grumpy perhaps, but that's understandable under the circumstances.” She smiles briefly and he adds, “How did you meet?”

“He was a doctor at the hospital where I did some clerical work for a while,” she replies. She looks out the window, lost in a world of memories, but he doesn't speak this time. He just waits patiently for her to continue. Eventually she says, “He noticed me from my very first day at work. He was charming and kind. He said he could tell that something was troubling me and he'd like to help... and he didn't take no for an answer. He kept trying to gain my confidence, sharing his own story of how he lost his wife, telling me about his son, listening attentively to everything I said. Eventually I told him how my legend had lost her husband and had wanted a new start in a new place. He started to bring me flowers every morning, some of which he picked himself on his way to work. He brought me coffee when I refused to go out for one. He was kind, gentle, and so persistent, Malcolm, so very persistent. It took me six months to agree to go for a coffee. I met Nico about a month after that when he insisted that I join them for a picnic on the beach, and I fell in love with what he was offering... a chance at a family, a life free of danger and loss.” She turns to look at him and laughs a pained, ironic laugh. “I should have known it was too good to be true.”

“You had no way of knowing what would happen, Ruth,” he replies gently.

She shakes her head. “We were happy, Malcolm,” she sighs turning to look out the window once more. She's silent for a long time, and then eventually, she asks, “How did they find me?”

“We think it was someone from Six,” he confesses. “Someone happened to see you, recognised you, and told Steven Hillier.”

She nods slowly and fiddles with her cup. “Because of Harry,” she sighs.

“Because of Harry,” he nods sadly, thinking how unfair it is that love has caused so much pain for his two friends. It's unlikely that anyone would have recognised Ruth if Harry hadn't been in love with her and prepared to go to prison to save her. No one would have remembered her or paid her the slightest bit of attention. They're silent again for a little while. “It isn't his fault, Ruth,” he dares eventually.

“Don't,” she shakes her head. “Please, Malcolm. I can't-”

“I'm sorry,” he repents. “You're right.” He pauses and then adds, “I can't imagine what you're going through. You must really miss them both.”

“I do,” she nods, fighting to hold back the tears that have gathered in her eyes. “Especially Nico.”

“I liked him,” he smiles. “He's a smart lad. Active though. Nothing like I was at his age.”

“No,” she replies with a wobbly smile, “I imagine not. He loves to swim and play ball. He never really sits still. We had a pool and he was in it all the time. Swam like a fish. He...” but she can't finish her sentence as her emotions get the better of her and she begins to weep, lifting her hands to cover her face as she attempts to stem the flow of tears, murmuring a muffled, sobbing apology.

Malcolm simply leans forward and presses his handkerchief into her hand, telling her that it's fine and she has nothing to apologise for. He hesitates for a moment and then moves his chair a little closer before reaching out and rubbing his hand across her shoulders in comfort.

It takes her a few minutes, but eventually Ruth manages to stop weeping. “I'm sorry,” she murmurs once more as she sits back, causing his hand to drop to his side again, and wipes her eyes and nose.

“It's quite all right, Ruth,” he replies. “ _Really_.” He watches her quietly as she toys with the handkerchief in her hands, wishing that there was something he could do to ease her suffering. She really ought to be seeing someone about this, a professional, but he knows better than to attempt to convince her of that now. He's sure it doesn't help that she's spending most of her time alone in this drab, little flat. She needs to get out, live a little, take her mind off George and Nico for a little while.

“Jo asked me if I'd like to go back to work,” she says suddenly.

“And do you?” he asks.

“I don't know,” she sighs. “I really don't know. If I do... well, it won't be easy... but I did love my job, Malcolm, before I left... And if I don't, what am I going to do with myself?... I can't risk this happening again, and at least, when I worked for MI-5, I knew my work made a difference and I was part of something important...”

“Oh, Ruth,” he sighs and almost tells her that she shouldn't be thinking like that, that what happened was a fluke, that the likelihood of it happening again is minuscule and that she shouldn't be planning a life of solitude for the rest of her life. But he knows that there is no point in voicing these thoughts now; she's not ready to hear them. “Come with me,” he declares suddenly. “Travel with me around Europe. I'd love the company. It would be much more fun - What was it you said? Sitting in cafés? - with you than on my own.”

“Thank you, Malcolm,” she smiles and again he catches that wistful look in her eyes for a moment. “Thank you for the offer, but I can't.”

“Why not?” he asks, but seeing the pained look she gives him as she shakes her head gently, he decides not to press her. Instead, he nods and adds, “Think about it. I'll be gone at least six months, so just drop me an email if you change your mind, and I'll let you know where I am. It need only be for a few days, and I hope you know that you wouldn't have to worry about any of the practicalities relating to accommodation and sustenance. You're one of the few good friends I have and I would be more than happy to take care of that. The offer's always open. Here,” he adds and hands her a card with his contact details. “Just in case.”

“Thanks, Malcolm,” she smiles. “You're a good friend.”

He nods and they fall silent once more for a few moments. “Well, I'd better be off,” he says eventually, rising from the table. “Thanks for the tea and chat. It's lovely to see you, Ruth. Keep in touch, won't you?”

“I will,” she nods. “Thanks for listening and I'm sorry I'm such terrible company right now.”

“Nonsense,” he scoffs. “You wouldn't know _how_ to be terrible company, Ruth, and besides, what are friends for, eh?”

She walks him to the front door of her flat and he slips back into his coat before stepping out into the hallway. “Take care, Ruth,” he smiles and, this time, leans in to give her a hug.

“You too, Malcolm,” she replies as she pulls back, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. “Safe travels.”

“Thanks,” he nods. Then before he turns to go, he adds, “Time heals all wounds, Ruth. Hang in there.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Almost eight months later_

 

“Welcome home, Malcolm,” she smiles as she hugs him.

“Thank you, Ruth,” he replies. “It's good to be back. How have you been?”

“Fine,” she replies, leading him through to the kitchen. “You know, busy.”

“I'll bet,” he smiles. “How are things?”

“Better,” she says. “Tea?” He nods as she adds, “What about you? Tell me about your travels.”

“Later,” he replies, “first, tell me how much better.”

“On a scale of one to ten?” she asks, her eyes alight with mischief.

“If you like,” he smiles.

“Well,” she replies thoughtfully, “if before I was at a one, now I'm probably at five or six most of the time.”

He nods slowly. “That _is_ better,” he agrees. There is a pause while they sit down with their tea and they each reach for a biscuit and munch on it. “I was so sorry to hear about Jo,” he murmurs eventually.

“Poor Jo,” she sighs. “She was too young to die. I really miss her. When I decided to go back, I thought, 'At least I'll have Jo there, someone I know, someone from before I left, someone I care about, a friend to talk to.' Stupid to think that after everything that's happened. I should have know it wouldn't last... Some days, I'm not sure I made the right choice in going back.”

He nods and dares to ask, “And Harry?”

She sighs. “Harry's Harry,” she volunteers.

“Are things between you... better?”

“Yes,” she nods. “I know it's not his fault, Malcolm. We're fine. It's nice to be back working with him; we always worked well together.” She pauses, thinking for a few moments and then adding, “I realized something a little while ago. I realized that, even if George hadn't died, I would have lost him anyway, him and Nico. I don't think he would have been able to forgive me for the lies I told him about my past, Malcolm. He was a good, honourable man who valued honesty very highly. I don't believe he would have been able to move past that.”

He nods sadly, “I'm sorry, Ruth.”

“Me too,” she sighs, “me too. We had a good life; we were happy. And I miss that so much... the companionship, the intimacy, the laughter, the joy. I hadn't had that in so long, Malcolm. Not since my childhood really. And though I didn't feel as strongly for him, for George, as I do for...” She stops herself just in time and glances at him swiftly, noting with relief that he's taking a sip of tea and seems to not have noticed what she almost let slip. Then she continues speaking swiftly to avoid arousing his suspicions. “We were content together and I felt that I belonged. It was a good feeling.”

“And now?” he asks softly.

“Now there's just work again,” she sighs. “I'm back to square one, back to being a lonely, workaholic, crazy, cat lady.”

He chuckles softly. “Harry gave you back your cats then,” he smiles.

“Yes,” she nods. “I was very surprised that he'd taken such good care of them. I mean, I know I asked him to look after them, but I'd assumed that he would have found homes for them or something...” She tails off, reluctant to reveal how touched she'd been that he'd remembered and kept his promise to adopt them.

“Why would that surprise you, Ruth?” he asks gently. “He gave you his word that he would adopt them.”

“Yes, but that was years ago, Malcolm,” she explains, “and he's not really a cat person.”

“They reminded him of you,” he says simply, “and he loves you. He always has.”

“Malcolm, please,” she protests.

“No, Ruth,” she shakes his head. “I'm not trying to interfere between the two of you here, but as he's not about to tell you and you seem to doubt it, I feel it's my duty to let you know. We used to talk from time to time while you were away, and I can assure you that his love for you never wavered or diminished.”

“Malcolm,” she interrupts desperately, not wanting to hear this now, feeling so guilty that she'd betrayed him with George.

“I'm sorry,” he says as if able to read her thoughts, “I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable and no one can blame you for moving on, Ruth. You thought you'd never come back; we all did. I just don't want you to doubt the strength of his feelings. I feel... a little guilty to be honest about before, talking to you about your dinner date and embarrassing you. I was-”

“It's fine, Malcolm,” she reassures him quickly. “Really, it wasn't your fault. It was me. I was... insecure, scared. I'd have backed out anyway, I think. It was all too much, my feelings... and his... I was... overwhelmed.”

He nods silently, reaching for another biscuit. “And now?” he dares to ask.

“Everything's different now,” she sighs.

“Your feelings aren't,” he points out gently, “neither yours, nor his.”

“So much has happened, Malcolm,” she replies thoughtfully, not even bothering to deny her love for Harry. “He and I have seen things, done things that any normal person...” She tails off and falls silent for a few moments before continuing. “And then there's George and Nico and so much that has remained unsaid... and our... feelings are intertwined with our work, with the death and the suffering, and I can't unpick it all... And besides, he's so... repressed.” She sighs and turns to look at him. “Am I making any sense?”

“Some,” he nods. “You said before that George was very persistent, didn't take no for an answer, he wooed you and courted you, brought you flowers, coffee, kept asking until you gave in and said yes.”

“He did,” she agrees, surprised that he's remembered that. “He never made me feel uncomfortable; he just never gave up, but Harry...” She stops herself quickly.

“He's your commanding officer, Ruth,” he replies simply. “If he had, he would have been guilty of sexual harassment.”

“You're right,” she sighs, “and perhaps I would have felt it as such before, but now...” She shakes her head not daring to go any further. How can she admit that the thing she misses most about George is the way he made her feel?... Beautiful, special, loved, desired. No other man had ever made her feel like that, not even Harry. Perhaps he would have if she hadn't been so quick to turn down his second invitation to dinner, but the bottom line is that, with George, she'd discovered that she needs that, just like any other woman; she needs to feel wanted, loved and especially desired. And Harry has failed dismally on that last front especially. She knows he still has feelings for her, but lately she's become increasingly convinced that he's not in love with _her_ , but an image of her, an ideal that's based on what she was like before she left, but whose good qualities have been blown completely out of proportion to the point where this superlative Ruth of his fantasies bares very little resemblance to the real, live, flesh and blood woman that she is now, one who is far from perfect, who is a little damaged and who has all the normal drives and desires of an almost forty-year-old woman. She's actually convinced now that this love that he feels for her, or the perfect Ruth he's placed up on a pedestal, is platonic, chaste and wholly without passion, and she knows that, even if they could get past everything else, she could never be with Harry without that, without having the passion she feels for him reciprocated. But at least, they still have work, and at work, things are going well, even better than they've ever been between them, and she's very happy with the level of intimacy they share on that plane. She's still his right hand woman, still the most trusted member of his team, still his confidant.

They both remain silent for several moments as these thoughts flit through her mind until she pushes them resolutely aside and says brightly, “Anyway, enough about me, Malcolm. Tell me a little about your travels. Where did you go?”

So he proceeds to talk about what he's seen travelling around Europe and they compare notes over a second cup of tea, happily whiling away an hour more of this quiet Sunday afternoon.  


	3. Chapter 3

“Malcolm,” he smiles, shaking his hand and inviting him in. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he replies as he follows Harry into the living room and takes a seat on the sofa. “And you?”

“Surviving. Drink?” Harry asks as he lifts the decanter from the side table.

“Thanks,” Malcolm replies as he watches Harry. He's looking better than the last time he'd laid eyes on him, though he still looks dog tired, and he's almost certain that Ruth's return to work is the reason behind this change for the better.

Harry hands him his drink and takes a seat in his arm chair. “So,” he murmurs, “Where have you been?”

“All over Europe,” he replies. “I started out in Scandinavia and then moved south in a zig-zag, ending with Portugal. It's fascinating actually to do it all in one go like that. It really brings to your awareness the myriad of cultural differences that exist. I'd planned to continue travelling, but I've changed my mind. There's so much diversity just on our doorstep here, and to be honest, I think I need to rest a little, unwind, perhaps read a few books by the sea.”

“Yes, well, crossing the Atlantic does take some courage,” Harry murmurs, pursing his lips in distaste.

“Oh, I don't know, Harry,” he smiles, “I know that you lack a certain spirit of Atlanticism, but...” He stops talking, surprised by the way Harry's face freezes and the wistful look that appears in his eyes for a moment. He wonders what it is he's remembered as his friend lowers his gaze to his glass, swirling the amber liquid around for a few moments before taking a large gulp of whisky, draining the glass. He gets up then to refill it, bringing the decanter over, setting it on the coffee table and taking a seat once more, before he begins to ask him questions about his travels. Malcolm's been expecting this as Harry always likes to talk about neutral topics of common interest - music, cricket, books - before he's able to open up and talk about anything personal, so he chats away amiably about all he saw while Harry pitches in with his own recollections and anecdotes from long ago when he'd been stationed in France and Germany during the time he'd been seconded to Six.

A few hours and glasses of scotch later, there is a lull in the conversation and Malcolm, emboldened by the alcohol, dares to say, “I saw Ruth earlier today. She seems much better. She tells me she's back at work.”

“Yes,” is Harry's monosyllabic response.

“She said it's going well; she's enjoying being back.”

“Did she? That's good,” Harry nods. This time Malcolm remains silent, deciding to wait for Harry to say something, knowing that, if he wants to talk about Ruth, he will, and if not, then he'll change the subject. Eventually Harry adds, “It's good to have her back.” There is a soft smile on his lips, but Malcolm can see that there is pain in his friend's eyes mingled with the pleasure.

“I saw you gave her back her cats,” he ventures after a long silence.

“Yes,” he nods. Then after a moment, he adds, “The house seems rather empty without them though. I've been thinking about getting another dog, but I'm not sure it would be fair on the poor creature.”

“You could get a cat,” he suggests. “They do better on their own, especially if you get two of them.”

He purses his lips and murmurs, “I was happy to take care of Ruth's cats, Malcolm, but I'm not about to go out and get one of my own. I'm not really that keen on the species.”

“She was very touched that you took such good care of them,” he offers then.

Harry turns to look at him and the guarded hope Malcolm sees in his eyes almost makes his heart ache. “Was she?”

“Strangely, she didn't expect you to do that,” he frowns. “For such an intelligent woman, she can be quite thick at times.” Harry chuckles but sobers quite quickly when Malcolm adds, “So can you, for that matter. Honestly, I want to just take the pair of you and bang your heads together, but I'm afraid that nothing will come of it and it'll only result in you both getting a splitting headache. What will it take for you both to see how much you love each other and _do_ something about it?” Harry opens his mouth to interrupt, but Malcolm won't let him. He's had enough of this charade. “You give her back her cats, something she never expected you to be in a position to do as she never thought you'd hang onto them for this long, she's feeling grateful and touched, and what do you do? _Nothing!!_ It's back to business as usual, dancing around each other, one step forward, two steps back. It's exhausting and infuriating to watch!!”

“What would you have me do, Malcolm?” he murmurs in reply, slightly taken aback by his indignation and forthrightness.

“What would I have you do? You're asking _me_ what I'd do? How should I know, Harry? You're the expert on seducing women. Me... since Sarah, there's been no one else... but _you_... you're practically the Casanova of MI-5. You know perfectly well what to do. You're just too damned scared to do it. Do you know why she was with George?” Harry looks startled, but Malcolm doesn't give him a chance to reply. “Because he kept asking her in a nice, non-threatening way until she said yes. How many times have you asked her, Harry?”

“How desperate do you want me to seem, Malcolm?” Harry demands angrily.

“As desperate as it takes,” he replies without batting an eyelid. “Besides, sending a woman flowers and bringing her coffee every day doesn't make you appear desperate. It makes you look thoughtful, caring, considerate, loving. All you have to do is woo her, Harry. It's a piece of cake really because she's already in love with you.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Harry murmurs quietly as he drops his gaze to his glass, his anger evaporating in the face of his sudden insecurity.

“Well, _I_ am,” Malcolm says firmly. “I think she always has been and that a lot of her pain is a result of feeling guilty, not only about lying to George about her past and getting him mixed up in the whole Uranium fiasco, but also because she betrayed her feelings and you by being with him.” He watches his old friend for a moment as he purses his lips and tips the rest of his whisky down his throat, his face a mask of control. There is silence for several moments as Harry refills both their glasses. Then Malcolm asks quietly, “What have you got to lose, Harry?”

“Her,” he murmurs softly.

“You don't _have_ her,” he dares.

“I have the pleasure of seeing her every day,” he replies stubbornly.

“Perhaps,” he concedes. “But is that enough? And if it is right now, will it always be enough? And isn't it worth risking it to get more?”

“Malcolm, you're drunk,” Harry states, signalling the end of the discussion.

“I might be a little inebriated, Harry, but it doesn't mean I'm wrong,” he counters, perhaps unwisely, but the Dutch courage is making him a little reckless. “She could be _here_ , Harry, sitting on this sofa next to you every night, living in this house with _you..._ and the cats.” Then before Harry can reply, he places his glass back on the table and gets up to go to the bathroom, leaving his friend alone to think over his words.  


	4. Chapter 4

_Next day, Monday morning_

 

“Ruth,” he calls, “a word please,” and as she looks up and meets his gaze, she knows that there's something different about the way he's looking at her today, but she can't quite put her finger on what it is. She picks up the folder with the paperwork he needs to sign and walks over to his office, stepping through the door. She's surprised to find him standing in front of his desk waiting for her rather than sitting behind it as has been his custom lately.

He smiles at her, and indicating the sofa in the corner, invites her to take a seat as he steps behind her and slides the door closed. She stands in front of the sofa, hesitating and feeling a little thrown by his unusual behaviour. He hasn't invited her to sit here since her first day back when he'd given her back her identity. “Please, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, “take a seat.” He approaches her and stops beside her, waiting for her to sit first. Ever the gentleman, she thinks fondly as she sits down, placing the folder in her lap and clasping the edges with her hands as he sits beside her.

“What's this about, Harry?” she asks warily.

He turns his body to face her and replies, “I just wanted to check in with you and see how you are, Ruth. We haven't really had a moment's peace lately, and I wanted to make sure that you've settled in okay and see if there's anything you need... if there's anything I can do to help.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Everything's fine.”

“Are you sure?” he insists. “I know we must have some new systems, software or procedures since last you were here. I'd be happy to help if you have any questions or doubts about any of it.”

She smiles in amusement, lowering her head to hide it from him, but of course he doesn't miss a thing and she hears him ask, “Did I say something funny?”

“No,” she shakes her head, but she can't seem to suppress her smile as she looks up at him and sees his frown. “It's just the... image of you helping with computers... I mean, you're rather...”

“Hopeless?” he suggests.

“I wouldn't say hopeless, no,” she replies, her eyes sparkling in mirth. “Just a little out of your depth on occasion.” He sighs and rubs his face with his hand looking a little sad, so she quickly adds, “Don't worry, Harry, Tariq's already explained everything to me. I'm fine and I've settled into my new place too. Everything's back to normal.”

He nods and asks, “How are Fidget and Ginger? Have they settled in too?”

“They have,” she smiles, pleased to hear him ask about her cats. He looks really concerned about them and it warms her heart to know that he's become attached to them. “They'll only eat the expensive cat food though. I think you've spoilt them for life. They won't touch the dry food any more; they only eat the stuff that comes in a can.”

“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish smile. “I though they deserved a bit of luxury since they'd been uprooted. I didn't think that it might make things hard for you when you took them back...”

She wonders for a moment if, during all the time that she'd been away, he'd really believed that she would return to claim her cats one day, and it makes her heart ache and simultaneously swell with love for him as she realises once again how truly wonderful he is, how soft his heart and soul are beneath the layers of titanium steel armour that he wears most of the time.

“It's okay, Harry,” she reassures him, placing her hand on his forearm briefly. “I'm just teasing. I don't mind. I'm grateful that you took such good care of them and it's nice to have them back. I missed them.”

“They missed you too,” he replies softly. “They used to curl up on the armchair by the window every day, waiting for you to come home.”

She stares at him for several seconds and she knows that the cats have now become a metaphor for his own feelings during her exile, but though part of her is crying out to just tell him how much she'd missed him too and how much she still loves him, there is another part, the part racked by guilt, that won't let her. And then there are the doubts she has about the nature of his love for her, and the fact that they're at work, and she finds that she can't cope with dealing with this right now, so she says, “Perhaps it was just a particularly sunny window, Harry.”

She stands up then and murmurs something about getting back to work before leaving his office and returning to her station, and it's only once she reaches it that she realises that she forgot to get Harry to sign the paperwork.

 

* * *

 

He lifts his eyes from his work and rubs them tiredly before scanning the Grid for a moment and then letting his gaze settle on Ruth, watching the sensual movement of her lips as she chats on the phone, smiling on occasion as she simultaneously taps away at her keyboard. He sighs as he recalls their earlier conversation. It had started out so well, but the moment he'd hinted at how much he'd missed her during her time away, she'd shut him out, and he's beginning to wonder if Malcolm has perhaps got it wrong after all. Perhaps she really isn't interested any more... But then he reminds himself that Malcolm rarely gets anything wrong. He's a first rate agent who's spent a lot of his time over the years in the surveillance van observing people, so he's as skilled at reading them as any field officer, and he was adamant that Ruth still loves him. And if he's honest, he knows that she still cares for him, that there's still something between them.

“Faint heart never won fair lady,” he murmurs to himself. He'll win her round yet, he thinks as he turns back to his computer. He's just had an idea...


	5. Chapter 5

_Tuesday_

 

“Bloody English weather,” she mutters to herself as she steps through the pods and makes her way to her work station, dumping her umbrella in the umbrella stand by the doors as she enters and peeling away her coat. Luckily she had the good sense to wear boots this morning, she thinks with some satisfaction as she hangs her coat up on one of the hooks next to her station. Then she turns around, pulls her chair out and reaches across the desk to turn on her computer, but something catches her attention before she completes the motion, something's out of place. There is a cup on her table - one from that nice, and rather pricy, coffee shop just down the road. Surprised, she straightens up and lifts her eyes to scan the Grid, but it's definitely empty. Then she reaches for the cup, discovering that it's delightfully warm against her cold hands, so she picks it up and looks to see if there are any identifying marking on it that will tell her who it belongs to. She's been to this coffee shop a few times and she knows that they ask for a name when they take your order and then sprawl it across the side of the paper cup. “Ruth,” it says, and “Silver needle white tea.”

Who would buy her tea? And expensive tea at that? There's only one person she can think of. She glances up toward Harry's office again, but it's empty and the light's off. He probably has an early morning meeting with the DG or the Home Secretary. Surely he didn't have enough time to leave a still steaming cup of tea for her and escape without being noticed when he's actually supposed to be in an important meeting? Even Harry's not _that_ good. Which means either he has an accomplice, or she's got another admirer. She smiles and removes the lid from the cup before lifting it to her mouth. She inhales in appreciation, the delicate aroma of the tea, made with real tea leaves not nasty teabags, titillating her senses. Then she takes a sip and almost signs out loud in pleasure as the exquisite taste explodes in her mouth. Now _this_ is a cup of tea, she thinks as she takes a seat and switches on her computer before turning back to her beverage, enjoying this little bit of luxury in her otherwise rather drab existence as she continues to puzzle over how it got here.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Thursday_

 

She walks through the pods eagerly anticipating her hot cup of delicious tea that she hopes will be waiting for her on her table. She's almost certain that Harry's the one responsible for its appearance every morning, though how he manages to get it to her piping hot and without being seen still remains a mystery. He's a much better spy than she's ever given him credit for.

She was tempted, yesterday, to check the CCTV footage, but in the end, she'd decided against it. She'd found that she rather likes the mystery of her tea and feels that it would take something away from her enjoyment of it to know how it gets on her table each morning, especially if she were to discover that it isn't, in fact, from Harry. She's almost certain that it _is_ from him, but there is still a small, nagging doubt at the back of her mind, mainly because it's so unlike him to do something like this. He's never done anything like it before.

She slips off her coat, hangs it up and turns to pick up her tea, however, as she reaches over, she notices that the tea isn't the only thing on her table this morning. Right next to it is a single blue rose, its short stem in one of those thin plastic tubes that contain a little water to keep it alive, and as she gently picks it up and sniffs it, inhaling its delicate aroma, she feels her heart swell with love, hope and happiness. Smiling softly she opens her top drawer and slips it carefully inside to hide it from prying eyes before taking a seat, turning on her computer, picking up her tea, taking a sip and smiling in appreciation. It's 'Silver jasmine white tea' today, according to the writing on the cup, and it's her favourite flavour so far, after yesterday's 'White lotus white tea'.

She leans back in her chair and closes her eyes as she waits for her machine to boot up, thinking about the rose and what it means. It is an unusual colour choice, which makes her sure that there's a reason for it. So once her computer has fully woken up, she does a quick search online and that's how she discovers that a blue rose can't be achieved naturally and so it symbolises the unattainable or the mysterious; it says, “I can't have you, but I can't stop thinking about you.” She frowns as, for the first time, she seriously considers that perhaps her admirer isn't Harry after all because Harry would know that she's far from being unattainable to him, wouldn't he? The fact that the mysterious tea giver might not be the man she loves is a very unwelcome thought, and it takes some of the enjoyment out of her tea, but just as she's about to give in and check the CCTV footage to find out for sure, Lucas walks onto the Grid and she has to reluctantly leave it for later as she realises that it's getting late and she still needs to compile the threat assessment report before the early morning briefing.

By the time she's finished it, everyone else has arrived on the Grid. Harry's the last one to make an appearance, and as he steps through the pods, she notices that he's also holding a cup from the same coffee shop as hers and she feels a small spark of hope reignite in her heart. Perhaps the blue rose _is_ from him after all; perhaps he's trying to tell her that he's unsure of her feelings for him now, or if she would be open to a relationship with him. After all, she hasn't exactly given him any encouragement lately, and she'd all but ran from him on Monday when he'd tried to talk to her in his office.

“Spoiling yourself again, I see, Ruth,” Ros comments as she passes by her work station.

“My one indulgence,” she smiles back, taking another sip of her now rather cold tea and yet suddenly enjoying it much more than she had when it had been hot.

“Looks like you and Harry have the same taste,” she replies with a knowing look.

“Apparently so,” she shrugs and drains the last of her drink before dropping the empty cup in the rubbish bin. She knows that there will always be a lot of speculation about her relationship with Harry, but she finds that she no longer cares about it. She realises now that, in the grand scheme of things, enduring a bit of gossip and some knowing looks is nothing compared to losing a lover or a friend, and if she could do it all again, she would have said yes to Harry's offer of a second date all those years ago. She's able to see now that Harry would never have taken the step towards a personal relationship with her if he hadn't been in love with her.

She gets up, gathering her things and following Ros towards the briefing room. She's rifling through the folders in her hands to make sure she's remembered everything when her attention is drawn to Ros once more as she says, “Nice coffee, Harry?”

“Mmm,” he hums as he drains the cup and throws it away. “Excellent. The only way I can make it through my early morning briefings with the Home Secretary.”

“Ruth seems to share your passion for it,” Ros smirks.

“Great minds think alike,” he replies as he turns to look at her, his eyes smiling softly at her.

“Actually, it's tea,” she objects, watching his face carefully, “White tea.”

“White tea?” he says, looking convincingly surprised though she expected nothing less; he is a spy after all and a terribly good one at that. If it really _is_ him and he can manage to buy her tea and get it onto her table for three days running without being seen by anyone or arousing anyone's suspicions, controlling his facial expressions must be a piece of cake by comparison.

“Yes,” she smiles, deciding to bait him a little. “Much better than coffee and full of antioxidants. You should try it some time.”

He looks doubtful and shakes his head before turning to lead the way into the briefing room and saying over his shoulder, “White tea... It sounds rather suspicious, Ruth.”

“Why, because it's white?” she replies as they all file into the room. “Surely _black_ tea should be the suspicious one.”

“He's an old school spy,” Ros interjects. “White just isn't dark enough for him.”

Tariq laughs at this, but quickly sobers when Harry turns to look at him. “Right,” Harry says as he takes a seat, indicating that the brief interlude of personal chit chat is over, “to business. What have you got for me?”


	7. Chapter 7

_Friday_

 

As she steps onto the Grid this morning, she notes that she's not alone. Ros and Lucas are standing near the meeting room, conducting an earnest looking conversation, glancing every so often at the tablet computer Ros is holding in her right hand. She can tell that there's been a new development that she'll need to give her input on soon, so she swiftly makes her way over to her station to dump her things.

There's no cup of tea on her desk this morning, but that doesn't surprise her; it would have been too risky for her secret admirer/friend/well-wisher/hopefully Harry to have made the drop unobserved. What _does_ surprise her is the strength of the disappointment she feels. She hadn't realised how much this wooing, for lack of a better word, has started to affect her, and if it turns out not to be Harry, she's going to be extremely disappointed, she thinks worriedly before pushing the thought aside.

She stifles a sigh and leans over to switch on her computer before hanging her coat up and turning round to look at Ros and Lucas. They're still deep in conversation, so she turns back to log into her system, pulling out her chair and taking a seat, before she leans forward and grabs hold of her desk, using it to pull her chair in. It's something she does every morning, enjoying the simple, childish pleasure of gliding, if only for a short distance, on her office chair's wheels. This morning, however, she doesn't get very far as her right hand slips a little and comes away from the table holding a piece of yellow, sticky-note paper on which is written, “Open bottom drawer carefully.” There is no signature and she doesn't recognise the handwriting as it's carefully written in block capitals to disguise it. She turns to her right and carefully unlocks and pulls out the bottom, deeper draw of her desk in which she keeps all the files she's currently working on. Inside the drawer, nestled between her files, she finds a new travel mug, and when she picks it up, she almost gasps in surprise. It's heavy, full of her early morning tea, Chrysanthemum silver needle white tea according to the sticky note attached to the outside of the mug, but what has her transfixed for a moment and then smiling in delight is the mug itself. It's absolutely beautiful. It has a swirling pattern of different shades of blues, from aqua and turquoise to periwinkle and royal blue, and sprawled diagonally across it in large, silver, ornate, copperplate style calligraphy is her name.

“New, is it?” Ros's voice almost makes her jump.

“What?” she stammers as she puts the mug down on her desk and swivels round to face Ros, scrunching up the piece of yellow paper in her hand and sliding the drawer shut with her foot.

“The mug,” Ros smirks. “You were admiring it.”

“Oh that,” she shrugs. “Yes. They fill it for you at the coffee shop. I hate contributing to the landfill problem by using the disposable ones.”

“Right,” she nods. “Anyway, when you've finished marvelling at the beauty of your new mug, I need you to have a look at some new intel that's just come in.”

“Of course,” Ruth nods, pushing aside her annoyance. Sometimes Ros's wit can be a little too caustic and irritating.

She turns her mind back to work then, sifting through the new information quickly and methodically before giving Ros and Lucas her analysis and then turning back to her computer to type it up. Once she's finished with that, she has to get the threat assessment report done and, what with one thing and another, she doesn't have a chance to think about her new mug or the man behind her gifts until almost lunch time.

It isn't until she opens the second drawer of her desk to get her stapler as she tidies up before she ventures out to buy lunch that she spots the flower nestled carefully between her stapler and hole-punch. She gasps in surprise and glances around to make sure she's unobserved before lifting it carefully out. It's a white daisy and she already knows the meaning of this flower – loyal love. It has to be Harry, she thinks with a smile, surely this is unequivocal proof. A blue rose yesterday to show he's unsure of her response, a white daisy today to tell her he's still in love with her, and then there are the blossoms in the tea, she remembers. The first day it had been plain white tea, but every day since, there has been a different flower mixed in with it. She tucks the daisy safely away in the drawer once more and turns to her computer, intent on finding out the meaning of these other flowers. Wednesday had been lotus, the flower of purity and beauty, Thursday had been Jasmine, the flower that says 'I attach myself to you', and today it's Chrysanthemum, the flower of truth and loyal love. She smiles, more convinced than ever that Harry's the one behind it all because, apart from the sentiments expressed through the flowers, only someone who's watched her very carefully at work would know to place the note under her table where she would find it. Yet again she wonders how he does it and almost gives into the temptation to check the CCTV to find out. But just as she's about to do it, Tariq turns up and asks her if she's going out for lunch, so she confirms that she is and agrees to join him, deciding to leave the CCTV search until later. The rest of the day turns out to be so busy, however, that she doesn't get a chance to do so until much, much later in the evening. But by then, she's too tired and all she wants to do is go home and sleep. She'll check it tomorrow, she thinks as she rinses her new mug and puts it on the drying rack, thinking with a smile that, if she leaves it at work, perhaps she'll find it filled with another cup of tea tomorrow morning.  


	8. Chapter 8

_Saturday_

 

She can see her lovely new travel mug on her desk even before she steps out of the pods and it makes her practically grin with happiness. She's in almost an hour earlier than usual this morning as she'd woken up early and hadn't been able to get back to sleep. Her mind had been full of Harry and his anonymous gifts, the latest one having convinced her that he's definitely the one behind them all. Dear, sweet Harry. Who would have thought that he could be so wonderfully romantic?

When she'd finally given up on the idea of sleep, she'd made up her mind to try and get here really early and hide in the hope of catching him out, but yet again he's outsmarted her. Apparently, he can be rather cunning when he chooses and she's sure now that he must be tracking her phone. The thought had occurred to her before she'd left the house because, how else could he manage to get his timing so perfect with her tea every day, but she'd been unable to find a way around it; she really couldn't leave her phone at home in case of a red flash.

When she'd first realised what he's been doing, she'd been indignant at the violation of her privacy, but after she'd had a little rant about it to the cats, she'd calmed down enough to realise that his motives had been good, even if his methods had been questionable and rather... unwise. And it had also made her realise how much effort he's been putting into this unconventional courtship, the planning, the timing, and the thought he'd put into the gifts, and in the end, her appreciation had actually increased even more as a result. It does give her a tiny bit of satisfaction right now, however, to know that he'd probably had to get out of bed earlier than usual and scramble to get here in time to deliver her tea. Payback for spying on her, she thinks with a smug smile as she glances towards his office, but of course it's empty.

She picks up her mug and reads the note attached to it. It's Rose silver needle tea today and next to it she finds a single red rose. She lifts the blossom to her cheek, gently stoking it across her skin and lips, inhaling its gorgeous scent and thinking of Harry, wishing that he'd walk through the pods right now so that she could throw herself into his arms. She knows he won't though; he's got meetings all morning today, so she'll have to wait until he gets back before she can speak to him. She sighs, taking a seat at her desk, turning on her computer and pulling open her drawer to hide the rose before thinking better of it and getting up again instead to go to the kitchen and find a small vase or a glass to put it in. She's not going to hide it, she decides; she's past worrying about that now. She's going to tuck it away in the corner where she can see it, and if someone notices it, so be it. So what if they all know she has an admirer?

 

* * *

 

“Harry?” she says as he turns his attention back to the report he's reading.

“Yes?” he replies, looking up at her again.

“You wouldn't know anything about a delivery of cat food I received yesterday, would you?” she asks.

“Cat food?” he frowns. “What cat food?”

“When I got home yesterday there was a box outside my front door addressed to Fidget and Ginger,” she explains, watching him closely, “containing about a month's supply of food for them and some new cat toys.”

“That's nice,” he nods.

“Yes, it is,” she agrees. “It's incredibly sweet. Was it from you?”

“Me?” he asks in surprise. “I think I'd remember if I'd sent something like that, Ruth.”

She smiles at his evasive reply and nods, turning toward the door. When she reaches it, she turns to face him once more and says, “Thank you, Harry. It was a very thoughtful gift and Fidget, Ginger and I are very touched.” The tender look in her eyes as she smiles at him makes his breath catch in his throat and his mouth is suddenly dry. She holds his gaze for several moments before she turns and leaves his office and he's finally able to breathe again.

He's been watching her all week, trying to gauge her response to his attentions, his anonymous gifts of tea, flowers and now cat food, waiting patiently for the right time to make his next move, and he's sure that this is it; it's time to take the plunge and ask her out. He's rather amazed that it's taken less than a week to win her round and he can't help feeling like a prize idiot for not trying this before. What's the point of having seduced so many women if it doesn't help you learn how to please them, so that you can get the one woman you want, the one you've been waiting for all your life? He should have known that she wants to be courted and made to feel special. What woman doesn't want that?

“You're such an idiot, Harry,” he mutters to himself as he turns his attention back to the mound of paperwork on his desk. Tonight when they're alone on the Grid, he'll make his move, he decides.

 

* * *

 

It's just gone six when there's a knock on the door frame that makes him look up as he murmurs, “Yes?” and when he sees who it is, he can't help but smile. She walks up to his desk, stopping on the other side of it and giving him a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

“Would you like to get a drink, Harry?” she asks.

He stares at her for a second as he recovers from the shock of her being so forward all of a sudden and then murmurs, “Yes, Ruth. I'd love to.”

“Good,” she replies.

“Give me about ten minutes?” he says and watches as she nods and turns to leave his office, a soft smile still playing on her lips.

 

* * *

 

“You're off early. Going somewhere nice?” he hears Ros ask Ruth as she waits for him by the pods. He's just stepping out of his office, having been delayed by a phone call from the DG that he had to take, and he pauses to adjust the collar of his coat, unsure of what to do. His instinct is to step forward and protect Ruth, but that'll certainly give the game away and he's not sure how Ruth will react this time if their colleagues find out that they're going out together. Of course, it's only a drink this time, not a dinner date, but still...

“I hope so,” Ruth smiles at Ros and then turns toward him and asks, “Ready?”

“Yes,” he nods as he strides up to her, feeling suddenly positively euphoric. “Goodnight, Ros,” he says and he has to struggle to suppress the triumphant, smug smile that wants to spread across his face.

He watches as a genuine smile appears on Ros's lips for a moment before she seems to recollect herself and it turns into a smirk as she replies, “Goodnight, Harry, Ruth.”

He lifts his arm, wordlessly inviting Ruth to precede him into the pod and following her into the small space without thinking, caught up as he is in a bubble of pure joy. Just as he realises what he's done and he begins to worry that he's stepped over a line, however, she turns to face him and gives him such a warm smile that he can't contain the grin that wants to spread across his face any longer. He feels like he could float on air right now. She opens her mouth to say something, but the pod door slides open just then, so she swallows her remark and steps out into the corridor and through the door into the main hallway to the lifts. She waits for him to catch up with her and they walk together, shoulder to shoulder until they reach the lifts. “Where do you want to go?” he asks softly as they wait, watching the way a few strands of her hair escape from behind her ear as she tilts her head forward to glance down at her feet nervously.

“I don't mind,” she replies, lifting her eyes to his. “I was hoping you'd make a suggestion.”

He nods in pleasure as he watches her beautiful face, his hands itching to reach forward and push the wayward strand behind her ear once more. He doesn't dare do so here, however, and in any case, it doesn't take her long to tuck it away herself. Then suddenly realising that she's still waiting for a response, he clears his throat and says, “There's a pub I think you'll like just down the road from my place, if that's all right? I could drive us. I brought the car today.”

“Sounds lovely,” she smiles and steps into the lift ahead of him.  


	9. Chapter 9

“You don't have to drive me home, Harry,” she objects as they step out of the pub and into the cold night. “It's stupid for you to drive all that way when you live just down the road and I can easily get a cab.”

“It's no trouble, Ruth,” he replies earnestly. “I'd be happy to drive you home.”

“I know you would, Harry,” she smiles, placing her hand on his arm, “but really there's no need. I'll just call a taxi.”

“Well, at least let me offer you shelter until it arrives,” he murmurs, emboldened by the physical contact even as he wonders if he's pushing his luck too far tonight. They've had a lovely time this evening and he doesn't want to ruin it by moving too fast and scaring her off. “You could wait for it at my place.”

“Okay,” she agrees immediately, taking him by surprise. He smiles and turns to their right as he offers her this arm and is delighted when she slips her hand into the crook of his elbow and together they walk back towards his car.

Soon they're stepping through his front door and he's helping her take her coat off before hanging it up. Then he removes his own and his suit jacket and leads her through into the living room, acutely aware that this is the first time she's been to his place since he'd moved about two years ago now. She stands in the doorway for a moment, sweeping her eyes across the room with interest as she takes in her surroundings, her gaze coming to rest on the piano. “Oh, Harry!” she exclaims. “I didn't know you play.”

“I don't,” he replies, and when she turns to look at him, he adds quietly, “Not really. I dabble on occasion.”

She smiles as she replies, “I'm sure you're just being modest,” and turns, making her way towards the instrument, stopping beside it and lifting the lid to run her fingers gently across the keys.

“Play something,” he invites as he takes a few steps closer and stands facing her near the piano, sensing that she's itching to test it out.

“I couldn't,” she murmurs shyly. “I haven't played in months. Not since I got back.”

“All the more reason to give it a go,” he persists gently.

She hesitates for a few seconds, looking up at him and searching his eyes, perhaps to see if he really means it, and he makes an effort to keep his gaze open and sincere so that she can see how much he'd really like to hear her play. “Please,” he murmurs softly and sees her smile and nod before she pulls out the stool to take a seat. Then she begins to play and the room is filled with the beautiful sound of the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight sonata, and he knows that it's the most moving performance of the piece he's ever heard even though his ear can detect the occasional mistake in her execution, understandable after so long without any practice. He watches the emotions play across her face as she loses herself in the music and his breath catches in his throat, her beauty astounding him, and he knows that, if he didn't already love her to distraction, this is, without a doubt, the moment when he'd have fallen for her hook, line and sinker.

When the music comes to an end, she slowly lifts her eyes to his to gauge his reaction. “That was wonderful, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, never one to be effusive in his praise and not wanting to embarrass her by being so now. “Please, play it again.”

She smiles and shakes her head, murmuring, “I'll play something else, a song. It's called 'Κάπου Νυχτώνει', Greek for 'Somewhere night is falling'.”

“Okay,” he nods and waits for her to begin. The music is soft and melodious, and when she begins to sing, he can barely breathe as he watches her, the foreign tongue somehow adding to the beauty of the song and her voice even though he doesn't understand the words.

“Γύρνα τις ώρες που χάθηκαν απόψε,  
κοίτα που φεύγεις πώς κλαίει το δειλινό.  
  
Κάπου νυχτώνει κι ο ήλιος παγώνει,  
χάνεται ο δρόμος και πού να σταθώ;  
Κάπου βραδιάζει μην κλαις δεν πειράζει,  
πες πως τελειώνει ο κόσμος εδώ.  
  
Αγέρας παίρνει απόψε τη ζωή μου,  
κλείνω τα μάτια που φεύγεις να μη δω.  
  
Κάπου νυχτώνει κι ο ήλιος παγώνει,  
χάνεται ο δρόμος και πού να σταθώ;  
Κάπου βραδιάζει μην κλαις δεν πειράζει,  
πες πως τελειώνει ο κόσμος εδώ.” 

The music comes to an end and she smiles as she looks up at him. He's speechless, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time, this remarkable woman that has captured his heart so completely.

“When I first heard it,” she says softly, “it was a little while after I'd arrived in Cyprus and it made me think of you, of the time when we were... ripped apart. It's always reminded me of you, Harry. I learned to play it to feel closer to you whenever I missed you too much. It says,

Turn back the hours that were lost tonight,  
Look how the evening is weeping as you leave.  
  
Somewhere night is falling and the sun freezes,  
The road vanishes and where can I stand?  
Somewhere it's growing dark; don't cry, it doesn't matter.  
Pretend that the world ends here, tonight.  
  
This evening, the wind takes my life,  
I close my eyes to not see you leave.  
  
Somewhere night is falling and the sun freezes,  
The road vanishes and where can I stand?  
Somewhere it's growing dark; don't cry, it doesn't matter.  
Pretend that the world ends here, tonight.”

He takes a step towards her, murmuring her name, and she stands and turns to face him as he stops in front of her. 

“Kiss me, Harry,” she whispers.

“Oh, Ruth,” he sighs as he reaches up his hands to cup her face and gently lowers his lips to hers, pressing them softly against hers. Her lips are just as perfect as he remembers them to be and he can't help the deep longing that wells up from the depths of his soul for so much more. His emotions and desire are so strong that he has to fight hard to rein them in, testing his self-control to its limits as he struggles to keep this chaste, fearing to ask for more right now and risk losing her again so soon; he doesn't think he'll survive it this time.

 

* * *

 

He pulls back after a few moments, slowly lowering his arms to his sides again, and she almost sighs in contentment. He's got the softest lips she's ever kissed, and as she opens her eyes and sees the deep love in his, she can't help but yearn for more. She hums softly and reaches up to kiss him again, raising her arms to wrap them round his neck. He seems a little surprised as her lips press against his once more, yet he responds, kissing her back tenderly, lovingly, but pulling away again quite soon, before the kiss has a chance to get any deeper. He lifts his hands to her arms and gently pulls them from around his neck, taking her hands in his as she watches him, trying to read him and wondering if she was right, if his love for her _is_ entirely chaste. 

“What are you thinking?” she asks him boldly.

“That you're beautiful,” he replies after a momentary hesitation which makes her wonder if he's being entirely honest, “and that this is... a dream come true.”

“Harry,” she sighs and takes a step back, making a sudden decision that she needs to sort this out now before they move any further along this path and she risks her heart any more, though part of her knows that it's probably already too late. She releases his hands, turning and walking over to the sofa where she takes a seat and says, “we need to talk.” She turns to look at him and sees the worry cross his face before he reins in his emotions and his face is an impassive mask once more. 

“All right,” he nods and makes his way over to her, turning to sit in the arm chair beside her.

“I don't bite, Harry,” she murmurs, wanting to reassure him that she's not about to end their relationship before it's properly begun, at least, she fervently hopes she won't have to. “You can sit next to me, you know.”

He stops as he begins to lower himself into the armchair and looks at her in surprise before he moves to the sofa and takes a seat beside her, making sure to leave some space between them. Then he turns to face her, watching her carefully.

“I'm worried, Harry,” she begins after a moment. “I think that perhaps we're looking for different things here. So I need you to be honest with me. What is it you want from me?”

“You know what I want, Ruth,” he murmurs softly.

“But that's just it, Harry, I don't,” she sighs in exasperation. “I know what _I_ want, and this isn't it. I'm not perfect, Harry. I know I'm bloody brilliant at my job, that I play the piano and sing quite well, and that I'm a kind, thoughtful person most of the time, but I'm much more... complex than that and very far from perfect. I'm damaged and perhaps broken in many ways, and I have needs and desires like anyone else, but I feel like you don't see that, that you don't want _me_ as I am right now. I feel like you want the ideal me, the perfect me, the one who's really only a figment of your imagination... This past week, with the lovely, romantic gestures you've made with the tea and the flowers, you made me feel special, wanted, loved, appreciated, and so very happy, Harry, when I was certain they were from you. You made me want to give you another chance, give _us_ another chance, but I can't do it like _this_... with you treating me like a china doll that might break if you're not careful, or a scared animal that might bolt at any moment. I'm a _woman_ , Harry, and when I ask you to kiss me, I want you to kiss me like you mean it.” He's staring at her in stunned silence and she has never seen him so completely lost for words before. “Do you think you can do that, Harry?” she asks softly with a smile and sees him swallow and nod. 

“Yes,” he whispers huskily, “but, Ruth, I'm...” he tails off, shaking his head as he lowers his gaze.

“You're what?” she frowns. 

“I've waited for this, for _you_ , for so long, Ruth,” he murmurs as he looks into her eyes again, “that I'm not sure I'll be able to... stop if I kiss you like that.”

She smiles and leans towards him, whispering conspiratorially, “Who says I'll want you to stop?”

He exhales heavily at that, gasping, “God, Ruth,” as he raises one hand to his forehead, covering his eyes. And as she watches him, she notices the tell tale bulge in his trousers that wasn't there a moment ago, and she can't help but grin in delight as she realises that she's got it completely wrong; he's been avoiding physical contact with her, not because he doesn't desire her, but because he desires her too much. And in that moment, she realises that she doesn't want to go home tonight; the biggest obstacle that has existed between them in her mind has just been swept away and she wants to take the plunge and give them a chance before it's too late. Five years of sexual tension building between them is clearly more than either of them can stand and it's going to be very difficult to move forward for both of them if it's not relieved soon.

“Harry?” she whispers, moving a little closer until their thighs are almost touching and placing her hand on his knee. 

His breath hitches at the contact and he exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose before saying in a strangled voice, “Ruth, I think I'd better call you a cab.”

“You want me to go?” she asks in surprise, pulling her hand back.

“God, no,” he sighs as he lowers his hand to look at her, his eyes dark with desire, yet at the same time, softened by love. “I never want you to go, Ruth.”

“Good because I don't want to go,” she smiles as she leans a little towards him until their thighs are touching. “Do you know what I want more than anything tonight?”

He swallows, looking down at their legs, pressed snugly together. “You want me to kiss you,” he murmurs distractedly.

“Yes, I do,” she replies, placing her hand back on his knee, “but that's not all I want. What I _really_ want is for you to make love to me, Harry.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, his breathing suddenly very rapid, and then opens them again to look at her before murmuring in a really deep, husky voice, “Say that again, Ruth.”

“Make love to me, Harry,” she whispers as she leans in towards him, stopping just short of his lips. “Please. I want us to do what we should have done years ago. I want to see if it'll be as wonderful as I've always imagined it will be. I want to feel you inside me, Harry. Please.”

And with a groan of deep longing, he pulls her to him, unleashing a passion so strong that it overwhelms her completely and she's utterly unable to think straight. Their first time is a quick and desperate coupling on his sofa, but it feels so incredibly, spectacularly good that she can't believe they've waited so long for it. 

As they lie on the sofa panting, his body covering hers as he still lingers inside her, his forehead resting against her shoulder, his left hand still gently gripping her breast and his right tangled in her hair, her hands running up and down his sweat dampened back and fingering the damp curls at the nape of his neck, all she can do is hum in satisfaction and murmur a quiet, “Wow!”

He chuckles softly and lifts his head to look at her, the smile on his lips lighting up his whole face. “I love _you_ , Ruth,” he says softly. “All of you, just the way you are... And I want you. If only you knew how _much_ I want you, Ruth, _e_ _very_ part of you... your brilliant mind, your beautiful body, your lovely voice, your talented hands, your stubbornness, your smiles, your laughter, your tears, your sorrow, your anger, your joy, your desire, your passion, your love... everything. I _want_ everything... And I give myself to you unreservedly. Whatever I am, whatever I have, it's yours. It always has been... If you'll have it, if you'll have _me?_ ”

“Yes, Harry,” she smiles as she fights to hold in the tears that have welled up at his words. “You're all I've ever wanted, but by the time I realised that, I thought I was too late. So yes, please. I _do_ want you... all of you. I love you. I never stopped loving you.”

And when he kisses her this time, she feels like she's finally come home at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Ruth sings is one written by Σταύρος Κουγιουμτζής. It has been sung by many artists and you can easily find it on youtube. This performance on youtube by Παναγιώτης Πετράκης (watch?v=YVccneRiKH4) is the only one I could find which is accompanied by piano though the quality of the recording isn't great.


End file.
